


And Now You Decided To Show Me The Same

by threemeows



Series: Wild Horses [2]
Category: To All the Boys I've Loved Before Series - Jenny Han, To All the Boys I’ve Loved Before (2018)
Genre: also i think the movies have it has lucas james not lucas krapf but again oh well, i would tag greg but i think he's supposed to be gave rivera in the movies oh well, movie verse with book verse, p.s. i still love you, what is my life this is my life obsessing over minute insignificant details
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-19
Updated: 2018-10-19
Packaged: 2019-08-04 13:18:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16347452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/threemeows/pseuds/threemeows
Summary: I watched you suffer a dull aching painAnd now you decided to show me the sameMy (perhaps misguided) attempt to align the second book of the series, P.S. I Still Love You, with the events of the movie.





	And Now You Decided To Show Me The Same

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from the song, Wild Horses, by The Rolling Stones.
> 
> Can be read in conjunction with my other works, but it's not necessary.
> 
> This is movie-verse, except it takes place in Virginia rather than Oregon.
> 
> In order to make things jive with what we saw in the movie, I had to switch some things around, delete some things entirely, skim over other things, etc. Some lines are taken directly from the book itself, with apologies to Jenny Han. 
> 
> I DON'T KNOW IF IT TOTALLY WORKS, LMAO, SORRY.
> 
> P.S. Many thanks to Anjali_Organna for being a patient, so very patient, amazing beta.

_I watched you suffer a dull aching pain_

_And now you decided to show me the same_

 

*

 

Isn’t it supposed to be easier?

 

That’s what all of her romance novels say. Happily ever after. The end. _Fin_.

 

And in some ways, it is. They still go on dates. They still have movie nights – they’ve even introduced Kitty to Owen. (Kid’s still shy though.) He’s still endearingly sweet to her little sister - when Peter surprises Kitty on her birthday with flowers and a private drive to school just for her, Lara Jean swears she might scream into her fist from the cuteness. She’d kissed him extra hard for the birthday thing, first thing before school. He’d been almost unbearable afterwards, practically preening.

 

It is almost exactly the same as fake dating, except with the added benefit of kissing him. He even still puts his hand in her back pocket.

 

The first time he squeezes, though, she jumps out of her skin.

 

He’s teasing her, making fun of her height - she’d fairly ran out of chem, “Little legs pumping like a cartoon,” he laughs. She throws back, “Better than having giraffe legs,” and pokes his side, tickling - he laughs, but instead of shying away, squeezes her right butt cheek.

 

Lara Jean’s eyes widen and she jumps like she just received an electric shock. Which in a way she had.

 

“What?” he says, genuinely confused.

 

“I - um -“ She pulls away, out of reach. They are in the middle of the parking lot, on the way to his car. “I just -”

 

He purses his lips, nods. “All right,” he says, and she is relieved to see sudden understanding there. “Hey. Sorry. We cool?”

 

“Peachy,” she gulps. He nods again and holds out his hand, which she takes. The mood has shifted – something like nervousness has creased his eyebrows. Which is stupid because what does he have to be nervous about? If anyone should be anxious, it’s her. He is just so much more experienced than she is. It _is_ nice to know he won’t push things. But it is still intimidating. Is she doing everything right? Could she be doing anything better?

 

(Like Gen?)

 

And then there is the texting. She knows he’s still texting Gen.

 

“I’m just being a friend. She’s just going through a tough time,” he explains over dinner one night at the Corner Café.

 

“What? Feeling guilty about plastering porn of me all over the internet?” she grumbles, stabbing the ketchup with her French fry.

 

“She said she was sorry about that,” he sighs.

 

“Funny how I missed that apology,” Lara Jean muses.

 

Peter scrubs the back of his head, tired. “Look, I’m sorry that I put you in the situation in the first place.”

 

“What do you have to be sorry for?” she says, confused. “I was the one who got in the hot tub with you.”

 

He smiles at her, like, _Oh, Covey,_ and reaches over to cuff her playfully on the chin. She smiles back, lifting her fist in a feigned defense move. “Look, I don’t expect you guys to be friends or anything,” he says after a while. “Just - can you just trust me on this?”

 

What could she say to that? _No, honey, I don’t trust you? Oh baby, you’re so cute but stupid - I don’t trust_ her _?_ She fiddles with her locket as she munches on her fries – the locket he gave her just a few days ago. She’d been so happy then, so thrilled to see the necklace she’s been admiring for ages. The idea that he noticed her looking at it without having said anything to him about liking it had made her feel like the most cherished, special person in the entire world.

 

Now she’s back to feeling unsure again, unsteady.

 

It is all so complicated. She doesn’t like complicated. She never has.

 

*

 

Peter isn’t stupid. He might not have the best grades, at least compared to his smarty-pants girlfriend, but he’s not a complete blithering idiot. He knows something’s up with Lara Jean.

 

He just can’t pinpoint exactly what.

 

Everything starts out more than fine. He’d been board since well before the ski trip, and having her on the same wavelength is much, much better than he could’ve hoped for. Actual dates are just as good, if not better than, the fake ones. She even still comes to his lacrosse games, although he admits to a bit of guilt-tripping there. When she can’t go to his away game, but shows up to school with his number on her cheek and cookies and a sweet, apologetic smile on her face, he’s ridiculously pleased. Greg gives him shit for days but Peter notices he steals about half of the cookies.

 

Still, there are times when Lara Jean looks away and her eyes are shadowed, like she wants to say something but doesn’t. The brand new contract they write together seems to help a bit, but he’s starting to wonder if it’s not so much a plan but a Band-Aid.

 

Like – there are times when he’ll touch her and she’ll act as if he lit her on fire, and not in a good way. Like the time in the parking lot. Or when they were in the tree house, alone.

 

She’d once accused him of not taking physical stuff seriously – that it wasn’t a big deal to him – which wasn’t, and isn’t, the truth, at all. But he’s also not really sure how to handle her rather obvious issues about physical stuff. He loves just hanging out with her – cuddling with her on the couch is just, well, plain _nice._ And kissing her? Forget about it. But anything more than that . . . He’s never pushed, and will never, but he’s not sure how to actually go about talking to her what’s her deal. The tree house talk was embarrassing and left him feeling like there were still a lot of things unsaid, like her constant questions were trying to get at something he doesn’t understand.

 

It’s weird, but the fact is, it’s all so new. Before, he and Gen had just sort of jumped off the bridge together. He can’t figure out a way to navigate with Lara Jean – and not just sex. He doesn’t want to screw it up, which he did in some ways with Gen.

 

Speaking of . . . There’s also the Gen thing. Much like the first rule of Fight Club, the first rule of exes is you don’t talk about your exes. So they don’t talk about Gen, or at least Peter doesn’t bring her up. Since the video, they don’t even say hi to each other in the halls, and he’d unfollowed her on Instagram pretty much right after she taped that picture up on Lara Jean’s locker. He’d felt slightly bad about it, but figured it was probably for the best.

 

But then Gen’s dad decides _this_ is the time to go from simple asshole to colossal dickhead, and everything starts to unravel very quickly.

 

*

 

When Lara Jean gets a reply letter from John Ambrose McClaren, she’s floored. She had thought her letter was lost. Lucas had the decency - oh, sweet amazing Lucas - to return his. Kenny never got his - thank _god_. Josh and Peter - well . . . ha ha ha. Look how that turned out.

 

So of course she has to reply. She’s curious. She wonders about the possibilities - about him. Is he still in Model UN? Does he still stutter a little bit? What are his friends like - his school?

 

(Is he still handsome?)

 

After a few more letters between the two of them - after a few more terse conversations about Gen with Peter - she doesn’t have to wonder anymore. Because Kitty is leading John Ambrose McClaren himself into the living room with a literal bowl of popcorn and a shit-eating grin.

 

She was expecting him, of course – he’s here for the time capsule party. But she didn’t expect - well - all this. Flowers. Handsome boy. Also, flowers.

 

“Where did you get that?” Lara Jean demands, pointing at the popcorn, as Kitty plops onto the sectional, stuffing fat fluffy kernels into her face. “That was for the party. Never mind, just get out of here.”

 

“But it was about to get entertaining!” Kitty whines.

 

“Is this your little sister?” John asks. “God. I remember when you were this tiny thing.”

 

“I grew up,” she says primly, but doesn’t move.

 

“Um, I’ll just put these - in - um, some water. Before. They. Die.” Lara Jean fumbles, side-stepping into the kitchen. The look in John’s eyes when she took the flowers is making her blush. “Would you like something to drink?”

 

They talk for a little bit as they head out to the tree house. Peter is late, but Trevor and Chris soon arrive. Their presence make it a little less awkward with John – she hadn’t expected it to be, which is the weird thing – but she is beginning to get anxious. Where is Peter? It isn’t like him to not text her. Where could he ...

 

Oh.

 

*

 

Their fight afterward is pretty bad, but mainly Lara Jean is glad that they’ve made up, even though whatever is left unsaid is conveniently swept under a rug. It allows her to concentrate on winning Assassins – and getting her one wish granted.

 

The rules have been firmly established – safe zones are the school and inside your own home, and everybody has their target. Trevor is taken out of the game easily, but then Chris is unexpectedly vanquished next.

 

It’s on to John Ambrose McClaren – who shows up at Belleview for a visit. Lara Jean’s delighted – not only because she gets to tag him out, but also because he’s Stormy’s great-grandson. It’s like fate.

 

When John tells her that he was confused - about writing letters to each other, about showing up to the time capsule party only to find out she is Kavinsky’s girlfriend - she is startled. She doesn’t like the implication that she was stringing John along, playing games. That was never her intention. She doesn’t do things like – would never dream of it.

 

At least, not on purpose.

 

*

 

Lara Jean can’t pinpoint exactly what sets her off. Just one day she spots Gen and Emily sliding into the girls bathroom before the last period of the day, giggling about something. Lara Jean is retrieving her chem notebook from her locker when she looks up, and they briefly catch eyes. Gen lifts her chin - her eyes grow hard, defiant almost - but then she smiles sunnily at her before disappearing behind the door. It reminds Lara Jean of the time right after the ski trip.

 

Which is probably a good indication that following Gen into the bathroom to confront her is a big mistake, but here she is.

 

“I need you to back off,” Lara Jean says, feeling proud of herself of how calm she feels, how confident.

 

Gen raises a perfectly shaped eyebrow in the mirror. Her reflection exchanges smirks with Emily’s.

 

“You should tell her,” Emily says, reapplying mascara.

 

“Ohhh, but it would break her itty bitty heart,” Gen says in a fake baby voice.

 

Emily snickers.

 

Lara Jean rolls her eyes, crosses her arms. She can’t believe it’s come to this - this high school cliché. Girls fighting over boys in a bathroom. It’d be hilarious if she doesn’t feel like tearing her own hair out.

 

“I’ve had enough. You need to respect the fact that Peter and I are in a relationship now and nothing you can do can change that.”

 

“Nothing I can do?” Gen wheels around, suddenly furious. Both Lara Jean and Emily take a step back. Gen digs into her purse, unlocks her phone. “Honey, it’s always been about me. Don’t you know that?” She shoves the phone into Lara Jean’s face, forcing her to grab it, to look at the texts. “It’s always been about me.”

 

There’s really no mistaking it.

 

Lara Jean can feel her heart thumping in her ears, slowly, steadily - the flush creeping up her neck. She forces her mouth closed, swallows. “It’s a lie. You - you’ve faked it.” It sounds so stupid, even to her, yet she goes along with it. Because the alternative hurts too much. “You could’ve just put his name on any old number –”

 

“You really are so naive,” Gen says, coolly. “Go ahead. Check the number. Go on.”

 

Lara Jean’s hands are shaking. Dully, she can hear Emily snickering. But she scrolls through her contacts, until she sees it.

 

The photo is him and Gen back from homecoming sophomore year. The number is his. Lara Jean would know, it’s in her contacts too.

 

Numbly, she thumbs back to the text messages. To the texts with Peter. And back up to the date of the ski trip.

 

Gen’s text is clear: _Meet me at the hot tub?_

 

And that’s Peter’s reply, right after: _Yeah._

 

Lara Jean’s hands the phone back to Gen, shoulders her way past her and Emily, who’s examining her fingernails.

 

“You just gotta know your place, LJ,” she can barely hear Gen day as she swings the door to the bathroom to make her escape.

 

*

 

_I’m not gonna cry. I’m not gonna cry. I’m not gonna cry. I’m not gonna cry._

 

Lara Jean makes it to chem at the last minute, slides into her seat just as the bell rings. She opens her notebook and keeps her head down, hair in her face.

 

Mrs. Freedman moves to close the door behind the last of the straggling students. “In, Mr. Kavinsky,” she orders, just barely letting him slide through the sliver of still open door.

 

“Sorry Mrs. F,” he says, charmingly, and plops down in the seat in front of Lara Jean. He pats her head gently to get her attention. “Hey.”

 

Lara Jean doesn’t look up. Her vision is swimming - yesterday’s notes are a blur of black ink and lines in front of her.

 

“Lara Jean?” Peter’s voice has grown concerned. “What’s wrong?”

 

 _What’s wrong? What’s_ wrong _!?_

 

She doesn’t realize she’s scoffed until he leans closer.

 

“Covey?”

 

No. No, he does not get to call her that, not with that voice. She looks up, and she knows her expression must be something - because she’s just barely keeping down the hurt from washing completely over her - because Peter almost recoils.

 

“All right, everybody settle down. That means you too, Peter,” Mrs. Freedman says.

 

Relieved that he’s forced to turn around, Lara Jean looks at the clock above the door. Last period of the day. She just has to make it through chem.

 

In her bomber jacket pocket, her phone buzzes. Lara Jean ignores it.

 

Two minutes later her phone buzzes again.

 

She keeps her eyes trained on the board. She can see Peter’s got his phone out under his desk, trying to surreptitiously type in a message without looking.

 

Her phone vibrates. She ignores it again.

 

She gets called on to balance an equation and it takes all of her willpower to keep her hand from shaking as she scribbles the work on the board. When she walks back to her seat, Peter tries to meet her eyes and she just looks away.

 

On top of her desk is a folded piece of paper with her name on it and a heart.

 

This, of all things, nearly does it. She bites her lip, feels a tear escape. But she doesn’t open the note.

 

When the bell rings she leaves it on the desk and runs. She hears Peter call out, “Covey!” but his voice is lost in the swell of people around her, glad that it’s Friday. She darts and weaves and when she makes it outside, the crisp winter air almost cracking against her face, she bolts straight for home, and doesn’t stop running away.

 

*

 

Peter pretty much blows up her cell phone, but Lara Jean’s not answering. He considers, briefly, texting Kitty – asking if she knows what’s up – but he doesn’t want to alarm her, on the off chance someone died or is sick and no one has told her yet. But he doubts that’s what’s wrong.

 

Angrily, he starts thumbing in a text.

 

_What happened?_

 

Gen takes a long time to reply. _What do you mean?_

 

_Covey is pissed. Did you tell her something?_

The . . . stays for a long time. Finally a wall of text comes through.

 

_She came into the bathroom and had the nerve to tell me we couldn’t be friends anymore. I got angry. I told her about the hot tub. Sorry, PK. I hope she’s not too mad._

Peter stares at the text and feels like throwing his phone. Fuck. Fuck. _Fuck._

 

His phone buzzes. He ignores it, thinking it’s Gen, not knowing what to say to her ( _Did you do it on purpose? Are you really that sorry? I know how you can be. Just don’t bullshit me._ ). Gen’s good at telling the truth when it suits her.

 

The phone vibrates again and he unlocks his screen to tell her to leave him alone for a bit, but it’s not Gen. The first text was, a contrite _Don’t be mad_ , but the second one is from Lara Jean.

 

_Come over._

 

Not a request. Shit.

 

He heads down the stairs, grabs his hoodie and his keys. Drives slowly.

 

The thing is, as much as Peter loves Lara Jean, she can be a little, well, a lot actually, innocent. When they were dating, Gen claimed it was all an act, some kind of front that Lara Jean put on. But the truth is, Lara Jean _is_ an innocent. Not just the whole kissing thing or the whole virginity thing. It’s her entire attitude towards love and relationships. Everything, to her, is one, big, sweeping romance.

 

Back when they were fake dating, he’d found it silly at first. When he started to get to know her he found it endearing. Now, he finds it heartfelt, genuine. Lara Jean is just the kind of girl who loves with her whole heart and expects - deserves - the same.

 

But she also doesn’t - can’t? - see that love can be messy. Complicated. Back when they were fake dating, Lara Jean had judged him for still talking to Gen after their breakup. (And yeah - probably not healthy.) But at the same time, Gen had been his person for so long. She was there when Dad left. When he heard Mom crying herself to sleep and he needed to escape the house, Gen’s door was always open. There was - and is - a familiarity with Gen, something he can’t really describe but always just . . . knows.

 

And so when this thing with Gen’s dad started to explode - of course he’s there for her. Who else would understand?

 

Lara Jean would, if she knew what is really going on. She’d understood, immediately, when he talked about Dad with her. She knew because she had been there – is still there - in a different way, with her mom.

 

But he can’t tell Lara Jean.

 

(He doesn’t want to see that look on her face – the worry, the disappointment. The way she worries her lip between her teeth, the downcast eyes. He doesn’t want to see it, if he tells her he’s scared – that he’s fucking terrified of letting her down. That sometimes it’s just easier to retreat and go back to bad habits because they are familiar. That he and Gen used to use sex as a way to comfort each other when one of them was angsting about their parents, and then later to make up when they had one of their knock-out, drag-down fights. Never mind that it got real old, real fast. Never mind that they haven’t done anything like that since he started fake dating Covey – since he found out talking to Lara Jean, having her just get him instantly, was like a balm he didn’t know he needed.)

 

And while he’s positive Lara Jean would never say anything about Gen’s parents to anybody, Gen begged him not to. He doesn’t blame her either, given the circumstances. It’s not his story to tell. He just has to hope Lara Jean will get it, instantly - like how she gets him.

 

 _If she loves me, she’ll get it_ , he thinks, driving to the Covey house. He shakes his knee, jittery, at a red light, checking his mirrors.

 

When he gets to the house and sees her, sitting on the front steps and holding her knees, and someone sitting next to her, it suddenly occurs to him that she actually never said she loved him back on the lacrosse field. And that she never has.

 

*

 

Lara Jean hears the footsteps, but doesn’t look up until she hears the tentative, “Hi.”

 

Surprised, her head shoots straight up. “John? What are you doing here?”

 

He takes a seat next to her. “Remember? We were supposed to stalk Kavinsky today.”

 

Right. The game. She’d completely forgotten.

 

“Is everything all right?”

 

She takes a quivering breath. “No offense, John, but I’m not in the mood for the game today.”

 

“Okay,” he says, kindly. “Do you want me to go?”

 

Peter will be here any minute, and her heart is so heavy she feels like she might just sink to the bottom of the earth and never get back up again. Before she can answer, Peter’s car makes the turn onto her street and pulls in front of the house.

 

“Yes. Thank you,” she says.

 

John bites his lip, looks at Peter – coming up the lawn with long, slow strides – looks back at her. He seems to understand what’s going on, in that innate, John Ambrose McClaren way he has, which makes her feel so grateful, and he stands up just as Peter halts, realizing who’s been sitting there with her.

 

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Peter says, flatly.

 

Lara Jean winces, remembering what happened at Christmas. It feels like a lifetime ago. _What’s with boys and porch confrontations_ , she thinks, almost hysterically. _Is it like girls and bathrooms?_

 

John, thankfully – wonderful, sweet John – just smiles nicely at him and shrugs his shoulders. “Was just leaving, Kavinsky,” he says. “Later, Lara Jean.” He pushes past, his shoulder just skimming Peter’s.

 

Peter’s jaw works, like he’s fighting not to say something bad, but then he catches Lara Jean’s look and just takes a seat next to her.

 

They sit on the porch for a very long time without talking. Finally, Lara Jean says, more to her knees than to him, “I know you were waiting for her in the hot tub. How come you never told me that?”

 

“Because it didn’t matter,” he says, quietly. “I should’ve but – you just showed up, and I thought . . . I didn’t know what I thought. I wasn’t thinking.”

 

 _Hashtag truth,_ she wants to grumble – almost does.

 

“Is that why she filmed us?” she wonders, more to herself.

 

He nods, slowly. “It’s why I didn’t go after her too hard about it,” he admits. “I – um – I hurt her too.”

 

What did he say a few weeks ago? That it was his fault - that he’d put her in this position in the first place. Now she understands what he was talking about. And it fills her with such a deep disappointment, and a raw hurt, that she feels like she’s drowning in it.

 

“Lara Jean?”

 

“I think you need to go,” she whispers, burying her face in her knees.

 

“No no no no – Covey, wait –” His voice cracks, but she keeps going.

 

“You keep talking to her, even after everything that’s happened. You keep putting me in second place –”

 

“I’ve _never_ – ”

 

“That’s crap, Peter.”

 

He sits on his heels, angry. “ _You’re_ the one still writing love letters to other guys –”

 

That he’s turning this back on her is ludicrous. “We are pen pals, for God’s sake –”

 

“Yeah right ‘pen’ pals,” he says, using air quotes. “Pen pals tell each other if they’re dating someone. Which you conveniently left out. And what the hell is he even doing here? He’s after something. No guy shows up with flowers –”

 

“He was gonna help me tag you out.” Peter scoffs at this, and this only makes her angrier. “Every guy is after something, huh? Like you, right?” she sneers. “So fake dating me wasn’t totally innocent. You were after something, too. Only it wasn’t ever me.”

 

“You can _not_ be still on this again.”

 

“I am still on this because I was never - I was never . . .” Great. The tears are falling in earnest now. She wipes her eyes and tries to take a breath but it’s shaky and she feels like she can’t get enough air.

 

He’s looking at her - he’s frustrated, but sympathetic. Sad. Finally he says, “I don’t know what to say. To make it better. I don’t get why you think so badly about yourself. Don’t you understand that you’re the most - Covey. Covey will you look at me?” She doesn’t, because she can’t get why he doesn’t get her. Shouldn’t he understand? Automatically? He sighs heavily, and says, as if fed up, “Look, I’m not gonna be like my dad.”

 

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

 

“It means -” He shakes his head, licks his lips, starts again. “It means I’m not gonna just up and leave people I care about.”

 

“So you care about her more than you do me.”

 

“I never said that.”

 

“She posted that video of us.” _She hurt me._

 

“Yeah, and I told her if she ever did that shit again I wasn’t ever going to talk to her again.”

 

“She’s pulling shit now. She’s still pulling shit. Coming to the time capsule party. Throwing this text in my face. Hurting me. Don’t you _understand_?”

 

He sighs, closes his eyes. “And I’m sorry she showed you that text. But she’s - she’s going through a rough time. She lashes out at anybody when ... it’s not right. I’m sorry. But technically - technically we weren’t even really dating then. I thought you ... I thought you didn’t like me back.” He shakes his head. “After movie night I thought maybe it was for real. That you were scared but you still liked me.” She almost smiles at the memory – of her falling asleep on him, the way it felt to be in his arms and wake up next to him. “But you still didn’t want to go on the ski trip. You wouldn’t sit next to me on the bus. You wouldn’t even look at me. I thought – I thought that you were still in love with Sanderson.”

 

The reminder that he even thought that – and that awful night when he came back to the house and Margot found out everything – churdles her insides. She doesn’t know what disgusts her more. That she might be the back up. Or that Gen was. Or that he thought she still liked Josh. Everything is such a mess she wants to tear her hair out, scream into a pillow.

 

Run away.

 

“I’m sick of feeling this way,” she says, eventually. “It’s not even about the hot tub anymore.” That much is the truth. “It’s all this baggage that comes with it. I feel like we’re running in circles, except you’re going one way and I’m going the other. I can’t do this anymore.”

 

He’s quiet for a long time. Then he says, “Towards the end, all I ever did with Gen was fight with her. I was sick of the drama.” He lets the unfinished thought hang between them, precarious, like on a string.

 

It almost feels like a dare, to cut it, then.

 

“So, this is what this is? Drama?” She shakes her head. Him basically telling her she’s making a big deal out of nothing – God. It’s infuriating “If I win Assassins. . . do you know what I would wish for?” Some part of her tells her not to say it, not to say things that she can’t take back. But she’s so tired, and now she can’t help it. “I’d wish we never started any of this.”

 

Peter flinches – and some small part of her rises with the thrill of getting to hurt him as much as he’s hurt her. He clicks his tongue, looks away. “Go on,” he says, dully. “You don’t even have to win to get your wish.”

 

She reaches forward - puts her hands on his chest - and tags him. “You’re out. Who do you have?”

 

“Genevieve.”

 

She stands up. “Bye, Peter.” And then she walks into the house without a backward glance.

 

*

 

And so it goes.

 

She’s miserable and wants to take it back immediately. But he seems fine and dandy and even asks for his necklace back which just - she can’t believe that. It makes her feel even worse, that she was right all along - that he never really cared about her, the fake girlfriend. The replacement girlfriend. The one who was second best.

 

After about three days of not getting driven to school, Kitty finally realizes something is up. She comes careening back from school into her room, eyes on fire. “Is it true? Did you break up with Peter?”

 

Lara Jean, trying to make a decent stab at her history paper, nods. “Yes.”

 

“What? Why?”

 

“He still likes Genevieve.”

 

“No way,” Kitty says, shaking her head fiercely. “Don’t be stupid.”

 

Lara Jean hesitates – as much as she wants to lay out the truth, she doesn’t want to risk further exposing her baby sister to this whole mess. The hot tub video was already bad. And Peter – she doesn’t want Kitty’s idea of him shattered, crushed like that. Like hers was.

 

“Shouldn’t you be happy?” she grumbles. “You were practically jumping up and down when John arrived.”

 

“I like the drama. But not, you know, actual drama,” Kitty says. Dramatically. “I just thought it would lead to some delightful confusion and misunderstandings and hijinks but that everything would end up okay in the end.” Lara Jean rolls her eyes. “I guess no more drives. And movie nights. And baking taste tests . . . Are you gonna cry? Don’t cry, LJ.”

 

Ugh. The idea that them breaking up means he’s no longer around for Kitty just makes her even sadder. “No, no I’m not,” Lara Jean declares, dabbing at her eyes. “Come on. Let’s bake. I saw a lemon sugar cookie recipe I’ve been dying to try.”

 

She shouldn’t be that surprised then, that she opens the front door one day to find Peter waiting with his Jeep and Kitty eagerly pulling at her hand. Kitty and her schemes. It’s what got her into this mess in the first place. “Come on,” Kitty says. “Isn’t it great? Peter’s going to drive us to – ”

 

Peter had been studiously engrossed in his phone, but the second he hears Kitty start to talk, looks up like a deer caught in the headlights. “Whoa whoa whoa –” he says, pretty clearly having _not_ agreed to this. “You only said just – ”

 

“It’s okay, I wanted to walk anyway,” Lara Jean says, but in her embarrassment, makes a mad dash for her bicycle. She’s so flustered she nearly pedals into the bushes.

 

Daddy does his best to try and cheer her up too. “I know it hurts, but Peter Kavinsky is not the only boy in the world,” he tells her, as they do the dishes.

 

Maybe not, but there was only one girl for Dad, wasn’t there?

 

She doesn’t say that, though, at least not to him.

 

“I just feel so bad, Gogo,” she mumbles one night when she’s feeling particularly wretched and calls her sister even though it’s 3:00 a.m. in Scotland. “How did you get over Josh?”

 

“It took time, sweetie,” Margot says. Lara Jean can barely see her on the phone, because she’s buried underneath her blanket with the flash off and whispering so her roommate won’t wake up. “Distance helped. And distractions. Go to Belleview again. Concentrate on school. Just do something. Trust me. It’ll be okay.”

 

So Lara Jean tries to do just that. And it’s true. It does help. At least there’s Stormy to distract her, the USO party to plan, winning Assassins. And John Ambrose McClaren, who is so nice. And sweet. And kind.

 

And interested.

 

Unequivocally.

 

He helps her plot against Genevieve. In what reality does a handsome guy tell a girl it would be his honor – his actual honor – to help her defeat her most hated foe? (It’s probably Chapter 36 in the _The Queen’s Knightly Lord_ , third book on the fifth shelf in her bedroom.) He’s even super nice to Kitty, who’s now treating him like something scraped off the bottom of her shoe. (Guess those delightful hijinks aren’t so delightful after all.)

 

She thinks about Stormy, wonderful Stormy and her legion of admirers. How dreamy it must’ve been to be Stormy at sixteen, almost seventeen. To bask in all the opportunities, the possibilities. Like a fantasy.

 

How wonderful to imagine and not wake up to a reality a little less kind, a little more lonely.

 

*

 

Taking back the necklace was a shit move, Peter knows that. But also a shit move? Breaking up with him like that. So he feels somewhat justified, even though the look on her face - wide-eyed, mouth in a little o - made him feel like a dick.

 

The first thing he does when he gets home is toss the necklace against the wall, loses it in the wreck of his room.

 

Which is a big mistake, because Mom finds it during one of her cleaning missions. (“Heathens. Both of you are heathens.”)

 

“What happened?” she asks gently, laying it down in front of him on the dinner table.

 

Peter rolls his eyes, slides it forward. “Nothing. Sorry. It was a waste of money. I’ll still pay you back the rest. You know I’m good for it.”

 

“That’s not what I meant,” Mom says. “You’ve been angry for weeks now. I’m guessing this is the reason?”

 

Peter just lays his head on the table and groans. “Mom - no offense - I feel like shit already. I’m gonna feel like worse shit if I talk to you about it. But - if you really have to know - Lara Jean broke up with me. She -“ his voices catches slightly “- she thinks I still like Gen, that I was cheating on her with Gen.”

 

“ . . . Were you?”

 

“ _No_.” He rears up, offended. “You too?! What the hell do you guys take me for?! _DAD_?!”

 

“Calm down,” Mom says, kindly. “No, you are the opposite of Dad. Loyal to a fault. And too nice to ex-girlfriends.” She glares at him pointedly. “I know you’ve been texting Gen. I pay your cell phone bill, if you remember. And I noticed you were talking with her again. So ... if I noticed - then maybe it’s not so crazy Lara Jean did too?”

 

Peter rolls his eyes. “Well, then maybe she should’ve noticed I would’ve never cheated on her. Maybe she should’ve trusted me.”

 

Mom bites her lip. There’s something in her eye that he doesn’t like - something more than concern. But he’s too much in bad mood to confront her about it. “Sorry, baby.” She stands up and heads to the fridge, starts rooting around. “Plenty of fish in the sea. You’re young. There’s no need to go so nuts at this age.”

 

Peter just barely stops himself from snorting. She’d been largely indifferent to Gen - had liked Lara Jean, genuinely. But Mom has always been pretty much adamant that he’s too young to get serious with anyone.

 

“Now, if you were a girl, I’d offer you ice cream,” Mom’s saying now. “But since I wasn’t blessed with daughters -“

 

“Beer,” Peter grumps, going back to laying his head on the table.

 

“Tough luck, buddy,” she says. She thumps a tub of Baileys ice cream by his head so that he startles upright. “You’ll just have to make do.”

 

*

 

“You gotta buck up. Go hog wild. Sow your oats and all that.”

 

“What’s with all the animal analogies,” Lara Jean says, scrolling through the Sephora app. She still needs to find the perfect shade of red lipstick for the USO party at Belleview. “I am not a horse. Pig. Whatever creature?”

 

“So this has snail slime in it,” Lucas muses, sitting on her other side of the bed, also with a face mask.

 

“Yes, but try to ignore that. Think about how soft and luxurious your skin will be.”

 

“I only meant,” Chris says, around a mouthful of wasabi peas, “that now you and Kavinsky are Ka-put-sky, you can move on. Live a little. Have some fun.”

 

“We just broke up. I’m still . . .”

 

“Yeah, but I got used to happy and content LJ,” Chris says, squeezing her shoulder. “Not . . . mopey and sad and depressed LJ.”

 

“Ix-nay on the opey-may and the ad-say,” Lucas sing-songs.

 

“What-ay?” Chris asks, dumbfounded.

 

Lucas sighs and slides the mask off. “Not feeling this one, LJ. Look, honey, I am sorry. We both are. But we just – want to see you happy again. Okay?”

 

Lara Jean tosses her own mask into her wastebasket and sits on the floor, propping her chin on the mattress. “I just miss him,” she admits.

 

“So . . . talk to him?” Lucas suggests, kindly.

 

Chris makes a face. “Ew. No. Make him suffer.”

 

“He’s not suffering,” Lara Jean says glumly, remembering how he took the necklace back. “He’s probably back with Genevieve already.”

 

“Shyeah, no, I doubt that,” Lucas scoffs. Lara Jean raises an eyebrow at him. “Oh, sweetie. Look, let me just spell it out for you – boy is head over heels for you.”

 

She eyes him suspiciously. “He has a funny way of showing it.”

 

“I said he was head over heels, I didn’t say he wasn’t a dumbass.” Chris cracks up at this assessment – even Lara Jean manages to quirk a slight smile.

 

She turns to Chris. “Is Gen really going through a rough time with her family?”

 

Chris furrows her brow. “Well, I mean, she’s certainly been bitch _ier_ lately.” She grabs another face mask packet and frowns at the ingredients. “Look, you know I haven’t been Kavinsky’s biggest fan since Videogate. So you telling me now he was actually waiting for her? No way. Nuh-uh. Go for Johnny-boy. You talk about head over heels? Whew. Besides, my little LJ deserves some fun.” She reaches over and pinches Lara Jean’s cheek affectionately. “You go rock this old-people party with John, and look smoking while doing it. That’s my advice.”

 

Lara Jean smiles but looks at Lucas, who’s got his eyebrows raised skeptically. “Ugh, what?”

 

He shrugs. “I mean, no offense , but you kinda tend to” – he waves his hands in a circular, topsy-turvy motion – “get all up in your head about this kind of stuff.”

 

At her questioning look, he says, “I guess what I mean is – have you ever considered what he said might be true? That he really was just helping her out? Strictly as a friend?”

 

“I . . .”

 

“I’m just saying,” Lucas says, reaching for M&Ms. “And, technically. You two weren’t really together during the ski trip. I mean, not _really_ really.”

 

“It’s still scuzzy though,” Lara Jean mumbles. And that’s not really the point. The point . . . the point is . . .

 

“Any scuzzier than sending John Ambrose McClaren love letters?”

 

“We were _pen pals_ –”

 

Lucas widens his eyes at her. “Girl, you know, I know, Chris knows that everyone had a crush on John Ambrose McClaren back in the day. He’s not pen pal material! And! Pen pals don’t show up with flowers! You tell a pen pal you’re dating Peter Freaking Kavinsky! Back me up here, Christine.”

 

“Ehhhh,” Chris grimaces, shrugging. “The man kinda has a point.”

 

“Chris!” Lara Jean practically gasps. “All you boys stick together, gay or straight. But you?!”

 

Lucas fakes stabbing himself in the chest. “I didn’t say you did it intentionally. You’re just –” He waves his hands again. “Kinda innocent like that.”

 

Lara Jean frowns. It’s something Josh had told her – that she was some sweet, innocent girl. She’d found it vaguely insulting at the time. It’s not like she’s some baby.

 

“Look, can we stop talking about my disaster of a love life?” she says. “Let’s chat about yours, Lucas. We need to get you a boyfriend.”

 

“Yeah, right.” Lucas rolls his eyes. “What are my options? Leon Butler – please, no, no, no – and pizza face Mark Weinberger. He’s nice, but I only like pepperoni on top of a slice of brick-oven fired cheese and dough.”

 

“I dunno, Lucas,” Chris drawls. “We could anonymously send Mark a Proactiv kit.” She makes an up and down motion with her hand. “He might turn from a pepperoni to a sausage.”

 

Both of them crack up. Lara Jean says, clueless, “What?” Which of course, only makes them laugh harder. But she appreciates them being there for her, even though they muddle things up a little more.

 

It _was_ pretty natural to slide into this thing with John – to have a snowball fight in the middle of the night with him, to have him look at her and understand, instantly, why she wasn’t ready to kiss him . . .

 

And now, it seems just right to dress up with a victory roll and bright red lipstick and dance with a nice, handsome boy – to drive away with him in an old Mustang, drive away from all the hurt, from Gen, from Peter – to kiss him now without a care in the world.

 

*

 

Even after he saw her at Belleview with McClaren, looking like some kind of movie star (and not for him, _for McClaren_ , for fuck’s sake) . . . even after the stupid goddamn incident with the cake . . . he still misses her. Which is pathetic. Just fucking pathetic.

 

“It’s a nice cake,” Owen says, digging in at the center island.

 

Having Kitty take her side was pretty annoying, but he guesses predictable, given her attempt at trying to carpool, and yeah, the whole Song sisters for life those three are always spewing, but having Owen do it too just really pisses him off.

 

“Well don’t look at me like that,” Owen says. “You were the one who broke up with her.”

 

“Actually, shithead, it was her. And none of your business –”

 

Owen rolls his eyes. “Actually, douchenozzle, if you miss her so much, why don’t you go back and do the whole hands on knees thing?” Owen takes another bite of cake. “I hear it works.”

 

“You’re not even twelve. How do you know how shit works, kid?”

 

Owen shrugs. “You weren’t the only one forced to watch LJ’s romcoms,” he points out. He pushes the remnants of his cake slice forward. “Want the rest?”

 

Peter can only shake his head at him. But he digs in, contemplative.

 

The thing is, he misses her. Really misses her. When Gen broke up with him, he’d mostly been angry. His pride was stunned and he was pissed that he’d been cast away like nothing after he’d spent so much time and effort trying to nurse her ever-increasing wounds, literally and figuratively.

 

Now - now he’s angry, but he’s also hurt. Lara Jean’s been the only one to truly get him since Dad left. The only one who’s suffered so much, but still looks at everything, and everyone, with so much hope and love.

 

That’s what stings. That she doesn’t trust him. That she couldn’t look at him with those rose-colored glasses and see that he was trying to help a friend. That she couldn’t find it in herself to get past this shit she has with Gen.

 

“Have you given her a reason to, though?”

 

He’s gotten such into a funk about this that when Greg stops by his house to grab his notes from Pre-Calc, Peter ends up ranting all about it to him, carefully leaving out the parts with Gen’s dad. Granted, he thinks Greg’s only listening just so he can polish off the cake, but at least Peter got it off his chest.

 

“PK man, for as long as I can remember, you’ve been tied up with Gen,” Greg says, around mouthfuls of cake. “And like dude - you still are.”

 

“I am not. Haven’t you been listening?”

 

“Dude.” Greg looks at him skeptically. “Look, I know you don’t wanna say what her issues are. That’s cool, it ain’t none of my business. You’re doing her a solid trying to help her through it. But like - why does it have to be you?”

 

Peter pauses, pursing her lips. “Because, man. We have history. I know what she’s going through.”

 

“Maybe, but did you ever stop to think she’s kinda sorta maybe using that against you?”

 

He frowns. “Whatever, man. You guys never liked her.”

 

“Yeah, dude, ‘cuz she’s crazy.”

 

“She isn’t –” Peter fumbles, because calling her that – knowing what’s really going on when everyone else doesn’t – seems like such a cheap shot.

 

“Okay, fine, whatever man. Homegirl just isn’t very nice.” Greg helps himself to another piece of cake. “Largie can bake you muffins and brownies and all that good stuff. And she’s actually nice. A little boring, maybe, but I don’t ever think she’s gonna shank me with her lipstick tube before fifth period.”

 

“Gen never would’ve –”

 

Greg gives him a look.

 

“Okay, she threatened you that one time – ”

 

“Twice. It was twice.”

 

“The last time was a joke.”

 

“Sure, if you think that deadly gleam in her eye was totally joking, I gotcha.”

 

“Man, just shut up.” This has gotten annoying.

 

Greg makes a closing motion with his hand. “Shh! You do that a lot.”

 

“What?”

 

“Make excuses for her.”

 

“I do not.”

 

“And you do that a lot.”

 

“What?!”

 

“Excuse yourself for making excuses for her. Man, come off it.” Now Greg looks a little frustrated. “Why do you keep hanging out with her, even after she showed Largie that text? You’re tripping if you think she didn’t do that on purpose. And even if she didn’t, and it was totally a bad reaction, you. Guys. Broke. Up. That means you find other people to tell your shit to.”

 

“I’m the only one she’s got,” Peter says, quietly.

 

Greg sighs, shrugs. “Nah, that ain’t true, and you know it. It doesn’t have to be you, man. You got this twisty thing with her. Hero complexes are just for movies, PK. It ain’t healthy. And put yourself in Largie’s shoes. It looks bad. Like super bad. Bad on a scale of -”

 

“All right, all right, I get it, I probably fucked up,” Peter grouses.

 

“Yeah, well,” Greg shrugs. “Just make up with her. I miss her baking. Can I take this home with me?”

 

When he leaves, Peter goes up to his room and digs around in his closet for the shoebox. The necklace he gave Lara Jean is nestled in there. He can still remember how her face looked when he gave it to her for Valentine’s Day - like he showed her the world. And when she smiled at him, it was like she showed it back.

 

Even as his heart had lifted, that had scared him. Because she looks at the world with these big, innocent eyes - has no concept about how broken and ugly things can be.

 

How broken he can be. How easily she could - and should - and did - leave him.

 

(Like Dad.)

 

There’s that familiarity with Gen, years of knowing her and knowing him. And the knowledge that she’ll always need his help, and him, even after she pushed him away.

 

It’s nice to be needed. But ... as much as she’s using him, twisting him, he’s doing the same to her. Which isn’t fair to either of them.

 

Or to Lara Jean.

 

Peter takes the necklace out of its hiding spot. He knows her birthday is coming up. Maybe . . . maybe it’s time to make amends.

 

Maybe it’s time to do the right thing, instead of the easy thing.

 

*

 

When Gen opens the front door, her face melts into something like relief. “Peter,” she says, happily. “You wouldn’t believe what happened today. I’m so glad you’re here. I went to confront Dad, but then Lara Jean followed me, that little -“ She reaches for him.

 

But he takes a step back.

 

“Hey. So - this -“ He gestures with both hands. “We gotta stop this. I gotta stop this.”

 

Her tilts her head - her expression grows cold, frozen. Her tell that she’s about to explode.

 

“She got to you, didn’t she?” she says, clipped. “She’s pulling the jealous girlfriend card. What a manipulative little -“

 

“Stop. I don’t want to hear it,” he says, so sharply her expression shifts for a half-second to surprise, to hurt. More gently now, he says, “I meant what I said on the ski trip. It’s over. And I meant it when I said that I’ll always be here for you, if you need me. But I gotta . . . I’ve gotta take a step back. Okay? We’re done.”

 

She shakes her head. “We’re never just done, Peter,” she says, shakily, her eyes fixed somewhere on his shoulder. “Little Miss Perfect will never get you. She will never understand people like us. Damaged goods, right?” She huffs a sarcastic laugh - what they used to call themselves. “You’re the only one who can fix me Peter. And Lara Jean? She can never fix you.”

 

“But that’s the thing,” he says, softly. “She did, and I was too stupid and scared to notice the difference. And I just always thought I could fix you. Now I know I can’t.” Gen shakes her head savagely, eyes brittle. “Gen. Come on.” He puts a hand on her shoulder, puts the business card in her shaking hands, as her face starts to crumple.

 

“What’s this?”

 

“When my parents divorced, Mom went to a therapist for a while,” he says. He points at the card. “I asked, that’s her info.” He takes a deep breath, readying himself - takes her arm and gently pushes the sleeve up to her bicep. Points at the fresh scars, the slashes. “You need to talk to someone. You can’t keep cutting. You are going to really hurt yourself.”

 

“You’re the only one who stopped me,” she sniffles, jerking away.

 

“And I can’t be that person anymore,” he says. He squeezes her hand, lets go. “Take care of yourself, Gen.”

 

He turns and walks down the steps. Behind his back she yells, “ _You’re just like your father!_ ” He freezes, the insult cutting into his heart deeply. “You need to man up, Kavinsky!”

 

He starts walking again, back to his car. “I have,” he calls over his shoulder, without looking back.

 

*

 

He learns, though, that just because you do the right thing doesn’t mean you get rewarded. Sometimes you still get sucker punched in the gut.

 

He literally watches his ex-girlfriend drive off into the literal sunset with her new boyfriend.

 

It pretty much fucking blows.

 

He begs off Greg’s party - spends the weekend holed up in his room. Mom demands an answer through the locked door but he just really doesn’t have the energy for this shit anymore.

 

But then Covey calls.

 

“Hey,” he says, confused. He’s wondering if she’s come to gloat. _Hi, just sitting here with my perfect Model UN boyfriend and his perfect grades and perfect family and my perfect life is just perfect without you, Peter Kavinsky._

 

“Hey . . .”

 

The pause that follow is really too long to be anything but awkward.

 

“Covey?”

 

“Can you come to the tree house?” she asks, finally, quietly. “I think . . . I need to talk to you.”

 

“Talk?”

 

“Yeah. Talk.” She sighs. “Please?”

 

He doesn’t know what on earth for. Just that yes, he must be pretty pathetic to be hopping up right now, just because she asked politely.

 

“Yeah. Of course I’ll be there.”

 

*

 

It’s not easy, but maybe it shouldn’t be.

 

Lara Jean hands him a note – a note he gave once gave her, which she didn’t read, until it was almost too late.

 

_It’s so cool we can talk to each other about real stuff._

 

He bites his lip, looks at her – and nods.

 

And for the first time in a long time, they begin to talk.

 

He congratulates her on winning the game. She tells him what she wishes for –

 

“I wish that things could go back to the way they were between us.”

 

She’s so relieved to just be able to hold him again – and from the way they’re both shaking, she can tell he is, too.

 

And after they’re both calmer, they talk about Gen. How Lara Jean saw everything. How she tried to extend an olive branch. How Gen threw it back in her face.

 

He tells her how scared he was – for Gen, for himself, and his past, and how he cut things off for good, how he tried to get help for Gen. “She’s just ... don’t take it personally when she didn’t take you up on it,” he says, shaking his head. “I’d already told her we were done.”

 

“I know, and I don’t,” she says, truthfully. Because they promised to tell each other the truth, and she is. “You know what she said wasn’t right, though? You’re not damaged goods.”

 

He shakes his head. “Not since I started dating you.” Then he grins, sheepish. “Well, fake dating you.” Her heart lifts and she hugs him tighter, but he pulls away, looks at her seriously. “You know I’d never … whenever you’re ready.”

 

“I _do_ know.” She nods, grateful. “I always knew. But I just kept thinking … maybe I didn’t measure up. Maybe I really was just better at being the fake girlfriend.”

 

He kisses her forehead. “Get it straight, kid,” he says, softly. “You were never second best.”

 

She lies with her back against his chest, playing with his fingers. He’s got his chin his resting on her shoulder, just the curtain of her hair separating their faces. It’s so warm and cozy sitting here, in the remnants of their childhood, this tree house.

 

Her phone buzzes and keeps buzzing – Peter groans softly, realizing what it is. “Curfew?” he murmurs.

 

Lara Jean nods regretfully, turning off the alarm. “Fifteen minutes.” She pauses. “You coming?”

 

“Yeah, ‘course.”

 

“No, I mean – ” She shakes her head. “Not just walk me home. Do you want to stay the night?” His eyes widen slightly, and she says quickly, “I didn’t mean – I mean, I’m not ready for _that_ that, but – we’ll set an alarm.”

 

She forces the questioning tone out of her words. Because she’s certain with him now.

 

His gaze has gone soft, and he kisses her forehead. “Gotcha, Covey,” he says.

 

He walks her back to the house, and Lara Jean makes an exaggerated amount of noise unlocking the front door. “Goodnight,” she says, loudly enough for Dad to hear, upstairs in his bedroom.

 

Peter grins at her and shakes his head, and gives her two OK signs with his hands, before he lopes down the stairs. He had said he’ll circle back in about an hour, to make sure everyone is asleep.

 

Lara Jean quickly – and as quietly as she can – throws every dirty piece of clothing into a corner of her closet, manages to find her cutest set of mint green pajamas, spritzes the pillows and herself with coconut perfume, and then takes out the most important thing of all, before shutting off the lights. Only her bedside lamp is on.

 

The knock on her window can’t come soon enough. She races to let Peter in – he’s in blue and green flannel sleep pants and an Adler High lacrosse t-shirt. Immediately, she wraps her arms around his waist and buries her face in his chest. Her heart is thumping so strongly she swears he can feel it through their clothing.

 

“Nervous?” he says, softly.

 

“No,” she says, and means it. She pulls away and takes his hand, and drops her locket into his palm. “Help me put it on?”

 

He grins at her, so fully, she feels like she did when he first told her he was in love with her – like she’s falling and floating, all at once. He tilts her chin, whispers, “I’m sorry” against her mouth, and she nods, feels that he means it, deep in her bones, her heartbeat, a thrum of regret, of hope too - and she whispers it back, means it, too, so very much.

 

She turns around, lifts her hair – Peter hooks the necklace around her swiftly. After a bit of an argument about when to set the alarm (“Aw, Covey come _on,_ four a.m.?” “You’re always late, Peter, I’ll be amazed if you’re out of my window by six!”), they compromise at five, and clamber underneath the covers.

 

She thinks about the first – and last – time they did this, when he snuck into her bedroom, and they spooned, and how jealous she got thinking about Gen. How that’s gone now, and all that’s left is sympathy for a girl that she used to know so well – and left in its place is the feeling of being loved, and loving someone back so fiercely. That used to scare her – the overwhelming possibilities, the risks. But not anymore.

 

She turns around fully to look at him. His eyes are closed, like he’s almost sleeping, and she boops his nose with hers. He scrunches his eyes closed even harder.

 

“Hey,” she says. “I had a revelation.”

 

“Praise the lord,” he mumbles in a fake preacher voice.

 

“Stop,” she giggles. “I meant – I realized this. Love is easy. It’s relationships that are hard. But they’ll get easier, too.”

 

“You don’t say, Dr. LJ Covey.”

 

“I meant – I got things jumbled. We both did. But one thing never did.” She takes a deep breath. “I love you.”

 

His eyes are still closed, but the side of his mouth quirks upward, and he says, “Took you long enough.”

 

She snorts, moves to slap his chest, but he opens his eyes suddenly and grabs her hand and starts tickling her. It takes all of her willpower not to giggle loudly, and when she manages to poke him back, he nearly barks out a laugh that it forces them to call truce.

 

Lara Jean turns around, and Peter drapes his arm around her waist underneath the covers. She laces her fingers with his, and he burrows his face into her hair, until he finds her neck and kisses it, presses the cool metal of the chain of her necklace between his lips and her skin. Lara Jean sighs, and drifts off to sleep . . .

 

 _Spooning_ is _the freaking best._

 

-End-


End file.
